“No, mijo. Go start your homework. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to eat.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I turn around to go into my room. Our apartment used to be a two-bedroom, but a couple of years ago Ma and Pa decided to trade rooms with me and Sophie. They moved into the smaller one, and we put up a fake wall to divide the master bedroom so that my sister and I would each have some space of our own.

I can’t fit much in here, except for my twin bed and a small desk that is crammed against the wall. I have to keep my clothes and everything I own in storage boxes under the bed, and the fake wall divides the window in half, so it’s pretty dark in here most of the time. I turn on a light, throw my backpack in the corner, and kneel down to pull a box out from underneath the bed.

I keep my money in the back pocket of an old pair of jeans. I don’t get a wage for working at the bodega—I mostly just do it to help out my parents. Instead, they give me a small allowance every week, which I usually spend on Broadway shows, whenever my friends and I can get our hands on cheap tickets.

I grab a ten-dollar bill to pay Kimmie back for my Hamilton ticket, and then I start doing homework. I try to hurry up, hoping to sneak in a quick acting tutorial before dinner, but Pa comes home before I can get much done, and then Ma calls out my name.

“Mateo, ¡la cena está lista!”

When I don’t answer after a few seconds, Sophie peeps into my room. “Are you coming?”

“Sí, Sophie. I’m coming.”

I follow her to the dinner table, and we all sit down to eat. The air feels both similar and different from yesterday. Similar because the apartment is quiet except for the noise of four people eating, but different because we’re all a little more relaxed. It’s almost like the past day has been a test, and now that we know the ICE agents didn’t come back to the bodega, it feels as though we’ve passed it.

“How was your day, mijo?” Ma asks me suddenly. I notice how she chooses to ask me and not Sophie or Pa. They usually don’t need an excuse to speak up.

“It was good,” I say, putting more rice on my plate. “Kimmie won the ticket lottery for a show. I’m going to the theater tomorrow night.”

“Can I come?” Sophie asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“What show are you seeing?” Pa asks, and that’s all it takes for me to start talking my heart out.